


forevermore

by mfdunklaus



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: Angst, Asthma, Blink and you’ll miss it, Boys Kissing, But just a little, Complicated Relationships, Duncan and Carmelita are besties as always, Homophobic Language, Klaus has asthma, Multi, POV Multiple, VIOLET SNICKET HELL YEAH, Violet Snicket, a lot of mystery, aromantic violet baudelaire, love a good friendship for me, there’s some Klaus/Quigley action at one point, trans!Isadora, uuhhh gays?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:55:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28072056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mfdunklaus/pseuds/mfdunklaus
Summary: And I was catching my breathBarefoot in the wildest winterCatching my deathAnd I couldn't be sureI had a feeling so peculiarThat this pain would be forEvermoreThe Quagmires get separated when born, Duncan goes to the Denouements, Jacques takes Quigley in, the Baudelaires take Isadora and throw a Violet Snicket in there, and here you go, a perfectly good AU where no one knows anyone.
Relationships: Dewey Denouement & Ernest Denouement & Frank Denouement, Dewey Denouement/Kit Snicket, Duncan Quagmire & Isadora Quagmire & Quigley Quagmire, Isadora Quagmire/Carmelita Spats, Jacques Snicket & Kit Snicket & Lemony Snicket, Klaus Baudelaire & Sunny Baudelaire & Violet Baudelaire, Klaus Baudelaire/Duncan Quagmire, Violet Baudelaire & Quigley Quagmire
Comments: 27
Kudos: 32





	1. cowboy like me

**Author's Note:**

> oh hi i’m out of writers block! i’m planning this work to be a big one so get ready! 
> 
> Also a thank you for the people in the VFDiscord for supporting this idea and helping me develop it :D 
> 
> also i would like a special thank you for Taylor Swift. This is a work inspired by her album and i’m so glad to share it. 
> 
> TW FOR CHAPTER: MINOR HOMOPHOBIC LANGUAGE (just a little bit at the end, so no worries) 
> 
> \- Andrew

And the tennis court was covered up

With some tent-like thing

And you asked me to dance

But I said, "Dancin' is a dangerous game"

Oh, I thought

This is gonna be one of those things

Now I know

I'm never gonna love again

I've got some tricks up my sleeve

Takes one to know one

You're a cowboy like me

***

To say Duncan Denouement’s life wasn't normal would be an understatement. But then again, what is ‘normal’?

Duncan never thought that growing up at a hotel was considered weird, until the other kids pointed out it was some sort of odd thing to do.

He also never thought having three fathers was, well, not normal, until he started noticing that kids were usually accompanied by two parental figures, sometimes one, but certainly not three and certainly not all identical.

Now, I know at this point you might be thinking this is a weird Mamma Mia inspired crazy story (which is a great movie, mind you) but bare with me for a moment. 

The thing is, Duncan’s foster dad, Frank and his two identical brothers, Ernest and Dewey, ran a hotel, and it was all the boy had ever known. 

It was planned that only Frank would be his guardian but Dewey and Ernest ran along at some point. 

Now you understand why some people wouldn't consider Duncan’s upbringing, err… typical, but he considered himself right at home just wandering around the endless corridors. 

Moving on to the whole my-parents-look-identical gist (and when I say identical, I mean  _ identical _ ), you would probably think that Duncan would eventually get used to them and start telling them apart pretty easily (his first years with them were  _ very  _ confusing, to say at least) but that didn’t happen until he was seven. 

Frank always said that the thing that shaped Duncan as a person he is now, was that all three brothers treated him completely differently. 

Frank would be the strict one, he would keep an eye on the boy. He would punish Duncan if he would make a mess. He was the typical dad, Duncan wouldn’t go out much to places, since there was no one to take him anywhere, but he grew up to be a very bright child because the Denouement made sure he had a proper education. Frank taught Duncan how to pick a lock, solve a mystery and write in code. 

Dewey would spoil Duncan rotten. In the hotel, there was an underground library and Duncan was welcome there anytime for anything. Dewey showed him secret passageways and taught him how to act properly during a tea party (Duncan doubted he would need that knowledge, but it never hurt to know). Also he introduced the boy to Moxie Mallahan and there comes Duncans love for journalism. 

Ernest would act like Duncan was a full on grown adult since the boy was two. He would always say “If he can walk he can do other useful things”. Duncan can’t count the times Frank and Ernest would fight over the fact that Ernest kept giving the small boy regular hotel duties (Duncan could perfectly do them but he wasn’t adult-y enough). And he didn’t want to admit it, but Ernest was a very good cook and he always prepared great food for their lasagna nights. 

So even though Duncan’s childhood was never perfect there were some good times that he appreciated with his heart and soul. 

For example, that time Dewey and him made up a game to annoy Frank and Ernest because business was slow and they wanted to have fun. It ended with a very pissed off Ernest and one week of kitchen duty, but it was totally worth it. Or that one time they tried to arrange a board game night but it all went to absolute shit when Ernest landed on Duncans property for the sixth time in a row and just refused to pay. Since then monopoly wasn’t a welcomed thing at their home. 

There were also times, though, when one of the Denouements would disappear for a random period of time. It could be days, it could be weeks, it could be months, but Duncan never found out where exactly did they go. 

Frank never thought it was a good idea of keeping the fact that he wasn’t Duncan's real father away from the boy, so when Duncan became old enough and started asking how the hell he even appeared on planet earth (because  _ duh _ , that boy knew how to add two plus two) Frank told him the truth as it is. 

He sat the boy down and explained that his real parents couldn’t keep him and the Denouement’s had to take him in. That same day Duncan discovered his name wasn’t actually Duncan Denouement, but Duncan Quagmire. He refused to change his last name and still went by Denouement even though it technically wasn’t his. 

After that Duncan would ask about his biological parents constantly, and even though Frank claimed he never knew them, the boy had a feeling that Dewey was sitting on a big piece of information that he wasn’t telling. 

What else could be hidden about Duncan’s life? Maybe he had siblings? What actually happened to his parents? These questions were still burning in him and Dewey would refuse to answer any of them. 

“Hey can I ask you a question?” The boy wondered once. Him and Dewey were sitting on the floor of the underground library, doing some job that involved stamping, sorting and books. Duncan didn’t quite catch what was the main reason of the doing. 

Dewey sighed, “Fire away,” he said, making a loud noise when he closed another book. 

“You knew my parents, didn’t you?” The boy looked up to see that Dewey wasn’t looking back at him, concentrating very intensely on his work instead.

After what seemed like ages, he sighed again, “Yes Duncan, yes I did,” he answered simply, still not looking up at the boy. 

“C’mon Dewey I know that’s not all of it-“ but the man didn’t let him finish. 

“I told you this many times before Duncan, I’m not going to answer any questions,” He slammed the book closed again and Duncan flinched. Dewey acted like this only when the boy asked him about his mysterious whereabouts and why he kept disappearing for random periods of time.

There must have been something Dewey was hiding, Duncan knew for certain. He’d known him long enough and saw him lie enough times to spot it. He looked at Dewey with his big green eyes as disappointment painfully sinked in his stomach and left a bitter taste on his tongue. 

But within seconds the feeling was gone and replaced with a new one, stronger one. Anger, frustration built up in his body. It was his life so why the hell didn’t they tell him shit about it? 

“That’s-” Duncan glanced to the side, not sure of what word to use. At the moment he felt brave, reckless, he didn’t care if he would be punished for whatever he was about to say so he just spat it out, “-bullshit!” 

Dewey snapped his head up at him, “Who taught you to say that? Good lord Duncan!” He put the book down and stood up himself, “Go to the room and cool off, and I will have a civilized conversation with you only when you’re ready.” 

For a little moment Duncan wanted to argue but Dewey threw him a warning glance, so he just pulled a gloomy frown muttered ‘fine’ and stormed off. 

After around ten minutes of brooding (he was pacing from wall to wall the whole time) Duncan felt pretty bored and considered it was time to go back down to the library. 

This time Dewey was sitting at his desk, drinking tea. The smaller boy noticed there was a cup waiting for him. “Sit down, and i’ll tell you what you need to know,” the man said simply.

Back then, Duncan didn’t know that ‘what he needed to know’ wouldn’t be ‘what he wanted to know’, and it made him even more hungry for the truth, instead of quelling his restless brain as Dewey had intended. That was, probably, the point where it all started (for Duncan, at least, for this story had been in play for many years prior, but let's not get ahead of ourselves)

He carefully sat down, not used to the way the Denouement was acting, taking the cup in his hands and blowing out some steam. 

“So, Duncan,” he began, “I did know your parents, they were very nice people. Didn’t know them much thought. We had uh, a work thing once together,” Dewey wrote something into an old looking notebook. 

“Don’t you work here?” Duncan asked, a confused expression painted on his face. Dewey pursed his lips and finally looked at the smaller boy, his gaze tired and the smallest bit annoyed, but the familiar glint was still there, he grinned. 

“Yeah, in fact yeah, I do work here, but have you ever noticed, Duncan, that this library isn’t just a normal library?” the Denouement stood up, walking over to a big cupboard. Duncan was always curious about that one, he never saw what was in there but Dewey never let him even close. 

“This cupboard is filled with files, Duncan. Tabs we keep on things, people,” the Denouement opened one of the cabinets and pulled out a very rugged looking notebook. A leather cover, little pieces of paper sticking out of it, the corners folded from the way it was treated and some of the leather was coming off. 

Duncan was quite horrified when he saw it.  _ ‘Who treats a notebook like that?’  _ was the first thought that popped up in his head  _ ‘It’s a very important thing and you shouldn’t be throwing it around like a dysfunctional shoe’ _

“This,” Dewey put a finger on the notebook, “Is a tab that your mom kept many many years ago, before she was pregnant with you and the-“ Dewey stammered, looking at Duncan in panic for a second, “the other stuff,” he finished, walking towards his desk again, putting the notebook on the table. 

Looking back, Duncan should have been a bit more suspicious of that split-second panic, but as an eleven year old he only concentrated on the bigger things, not the smaller details.

“But why did my mom keep any tabs on anyone?” The confused expression never left Duncan's face. And then, green eyes opened like plates with realization, “Was she a spy?” 

Dewey chuckled lightly. “No, she wasn’t a spy, well, actually I think you could call that. People who worked with us didn’t have to keep tabs only on people, they-“ Dewey threw quotation marks into the air, “-‘spied’ on everyone and everything. Interesting things are kept in this library Duncan, some files maybe on your mother even. You can look at this if you’d like, I'm sure you I can find something else if you want, maybe something on your father, but do not touch the cupboard yourself, understand?” Dewey looked at him expectedly. 

Duncan nodded frantically and repeated “Understood,” taking the notebook into his hands, he walked over to one of the bigger chairs and made himself comfortable, while Dewey continued on with his work. 

Although it didn’t answer any of the questions Duncan had, the boy through it might be somewhat useful. He opened the notebook and started skimming through the notes, his finger slipping over careful handwriting. 

Turns out the notes weren’t of any use. His mother kept tabs on a few people, a suspicious cinema worker, on a girl named Violet, who apparently was only one year old at that time, and an old man who didn’t seem to do anything all day except feed raccoons. He still couldn't understand why on earth his mother had to keep tabs on people.

“Hey Dewey?” Duncan called out, lowering the book so he could make eye contact with the man.

Dewey looked up “Yes?” 

“Why did my mom spy on a one year old girl?” 

“She had to do what she had to do, Duncan,” Dewey answered simply but the smaller boy just sighed, finally understanding he wasn’t going to get the answers he wanted.

Duncan yawned, “I’m gonna go to bed, wake me up when you’ll stop talking in riddles,” he declared, placing the notebook on Deweys desk and leaving the library. 

While the boy was walking down the hotel corridors, looking for his room he couldn’t help but get deep into thought. The name of the girl, Violet Snicket, sounded oddly familiar, and she was probably only a couple years older than Duncan, maybe he could find her? Maybe she knew the answers to his questions? 

Snicket. Snicket snicket snicket snicket. So familiar but not quite right. Maybe he heard one of the Denouement’s mention it? Maybe he heard a visitor of the hotel say it before. Maybe a Snicket was a visitor in the hotel.

Duncan tried to ruffle around his head to find any clues on Snicket but his train of thought was stopped when he bumped into someone, causing him to fall down on the floor.

“Oh sorry!” It was a woman, maybe in her twenties with two braids that reached her elbows. She had kind eyes that reminded Duncan of someone, though he couldn’t put his finger on exactly who. The woman reached out her hand and helped the boy get back up. As soon as he was back on his feet her expression turned into confusion. 

“Quigley?” She asked, leaning forward, she seemed not to believe her eyes. 

“Uh who?” Duncan asked, rubbing the back of his neck, at that exact moment he wanted to do anything but look into the woman’s eyes. 

“Oh my- oof I’m so sorry I confused you with somebody-“ but a loud voice didn’t let her finish. 

“Kit!” Frank was hurrying down the corridor in their direction. As soon as he ran up to them he noticed the other boy, “Duncan, hi, what are you doing here?” Duncan was about to speak but Frank didn’t let him, “You know what, never mind, Kit this is Duncan. I am his guardian. Duncan, this is Kit Snicket, our beloved friend and colleague. Kit, did you get lost on your way to the library or...?” Frank looked at her, panic obvious in his eyes. 

Kit started speaking but Duncan didn’t listen.  _ “Kit Snicket,’ _ he thought, ‘ _ She obviously isn’t Violet Snicket but maybe they’re related…’ _

“Do you happen to know Violet Snicket?” he blurted out.

“I um..” Kit gave Frank a meaningful gaze, fiddling with her braid, “Yeah?”

Duncan squinted at her, “Is that a question or a statement?” the boy crossed his arms and Kit chuckled lightly. 

“Well aren’t you just like Frank,” she smiled also crossing her arms, “Yes, I know Violet Snicket, little guy, but now if you excuse me I have to get to the library,” Kit waved to him and headed off to the direction of the elevator. 

“Go to the room Duncan, we’ll talk later,” Frank declared and stormed off to the other direction. 

“So much on getting answers,” Duncan murmured to himself and continued his walk to his room. 

***

Never wanted love

Just a fancy car

Now I'm waiting by the phone

Like I'm sitting in an airport bar

  
  


You had some tricks up your sleeve

Takes one to know one

You're a cowboy like me

***

Things started getting heavy when Duncan turned twelve. He wasn’t sure why, but apparently someone’s parents died and now they need to be looked after or saved or something. Frank and Ernest continued to disappear and Duncan still had nothing on the Snickets. 

He haven’t seen Kit Snicket since ‘The Hallway Incident” as he liked to call it, and after asking Dewey about it he said the same thing Frank did:

_ “She’s our dearest friend and colleague”  _

Oh god Duncan hated that sentence, it had been engraved in his brain for a year now and it wasn’t leaving soon. 

“Dearest friend and colleague my ass,” He mumbled to himself one night, after he overheard a conversation between the brothers. 

_ “Kit says we should send him away,” Frank sighed. Duncan didn’t see what he was doing, since he was hiding in the other room behind the bookshelves. It was his best hiding place in the hotel amongst other corners and turns.  _

_ “But I don’t want to send him away,” Dewey protested, “Why do we have to send him away anyway?”  _

_ “Because  _ someone _ introduced him to the Snickets, and that’s literally one step away from  _ him _ ,” Frank said sternly.  _

_ “Why can’t they meet? It’s only fair,” Dewey said, he was obviously upset.  _

_ “Because we don’t know what might happen, what if they try to find the father? You know it’s not going to end well. We can’t let them meet because we don’t know what kind of events it might cause.”  _

_ “And what about the other boy?” Dewey asked.  _

_ “Not a boy, she’s a girl, the reports came in this week, they’re doing pretty fine, at Montgomery’s, as far as I know,” Another question sparked in Duncans mind, another boy? A girl? Montgomery? They? Who the hell were they talking about?  _

_ “Okay so if we send him away, where can we send him to? Is there a place safe enough from Olaf?”  _

_ Olaf? Add it to the list of names he didn’t know.  _

_ “Remember the academy? Larry says it might be a good idea-” Frank started but the other brother cut him off.  _

_ “The academy? Have you lost your mind?! That place is a shithole and the principal wasn’t seen in years Frank! How the hell can he be safe there?” Dewey was outraged, even Duncan could hear it in his voice.  _

_ “He’s not a child anymore-“  _

_ “Yes he is! He’s fucking twelve!” Duncan flinched, he never heard Dewey speak in such manner before, it must have been bad. What can he figure out? What can he find? He needed to know the answers to the questions.  _

_ “Okay what about Lemony? Will he try to find them since the bo- excuse me, girl is with the Baudelaires and he’s been tracking them for god knows how long?” Dewey stated.  _

_ “We shouldn’t worry about Lemony here, if he finds Duncan then nothing bad will occur and we will just have extra eyes on him. You know Lemony, he won’t try to speak to him, well maybe talk but he won’t come up to him and tell him anything so bluntly,” Frank explained, “Plus Lemony won’t come near the academy.”  _

_ “Okay, fine. He’ll go to the academy, but only when he turns thirteen,” Dewey gave up and Duncan wanted to cry. What kind of academy? Dewey shouldn’t have given up on him like that, he wants to stay at the hotel!  _

_ “Good, because his birthday is in two months, don’t forget to get him something, I’ll talk to the vice principal,” Frank declared and left.  _

_ Duncan heard Dewey sigh and go to the other room to pour himself some tea. The boy had to wait in his hiding spot for another twenty minutes for the cost to be clear. More and more questions piling up.  _

  
  


***

Perched in the dark

Telling all the rich folks anything they wanna hear

Like it could be love

I could be the way forward

Only if they pay for it

You're a bandit like me

Eyes full of stars

Hustling for the good life

Never thought I'd meet you here

It could be love

We could be the way forward

And I know I'll pay for it

You're a cowboy like me

***

It all went to shit, of course, when Duncan turned thirteen. He dreaded that day so badly, didn’t want it to be even close. He took the most of living in the hotel in those two months but he still knew that he would miss it too much. 

On his birthday, Dewey got him a portable typewriter, Frank got him supplies and Ernest bought him a green journal. Saying goodbye was one of the hardest things Duncan ever had to do. 

Frank told him that since he’s ‘adult enough’ (nonsense, in Duncans head), they’re sending him to a school, to meet new kids and proper education. Duncan almost cried on the spot seeing how defeated Dewey looked. It was truly heartbreaking for him. 

The next week he packed his things and left for school. Prufrock Preparatory School, that’s what it was called. The name left a bitter taste in his tongue, heavy when he said it out loud. Frank drove him to the school, leaving all of his duties to say his last goodbyes. 

It was painful for both of them, the smaller boy had a dreadful feeling that he will never see his guardian again, but when he mentioned it to Frank, the Denouement dismissed it. 

The school was terrible, to put it simply. The days were long and boring. He lived in a dorm with four boys, all of them were absolutely disgusting. They wouldn’t flush the toilet and they would make a fuss in the showers, so Duncan always showered at night, when nobody was there. 

But there was this one girl, her name was Carmelita Spats, she was loud, spontaneous and she had curly ginger hair. Too feisty for his liking. Also Duncan got the impression of her being unnecessarily rude to others, but she was particularly nice to him. She called him a fairy in a “friendly way” once and he just stared at her in confusion, not knowing what that word meant. He hadn’t heard any of the Denouements use it in such context so he was relatively curious about it. 

So one time, when him and Carmelita were sitting on the roof of one of the dorms, talking about nothing, he asked her what it meant and the girl introduced him to multiple homophobic slurs and explained why she called him it. 

Although Carmelita said she meant no harm, Duncan understood why he was called “nancy boy” by other guys in the hallways. 

He never thought it was weird, liking boys. His first crush was on one of the visitors of the hotel, though back then he just thought he looked up to him a lot and saw him as an authority figure. Only after, he would recognize the feeling he wasn’t able to recognize before: he fancied the boy. His name was Michael, three years older than Duncan, very charming, and so intelligent, despite his twelve young years. He hadn’t seen Michael in a long time, so whatever warm feeling he had when the smaller boy saw him, was already long gone and buried deep inside. 

Carmelita had assured him again that she didn’t mind that he liked boys and they had stayed quiet for the rest of the night, each lost in their own thoughts.

The days at Prufrock Prep continued just as bad as they started, though now Duncan had found himself a friend. It was only one, but she still managed to make the gloomy days a bit better. That is, until the day he was introduced to Violet Snicket. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. willow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just to clear it up, Quigley doesn’t know he isn’t a Snicket, so I didn’t mention it in this chapter yet.  
> Also there were questions about Violet, so basically no one knows that her mother is Beatrice, except Lemony obviously and herself. And Violet does know that she’s a Snicket.

I'm like the water when your ship rolled in that night

Rough on the surface, but you cut through like a knife

And if it was an open-shut case

I never would've known from that look on your face

Lost in your current like a priceless wine

***

Quigley Snicket was always the boy that simply couldn’t sit on the same spot for a long time. He would pace when he would talk on the phone, tap his foot when he tried to solve a maths problem and throw around his hands and legs when his aunt, Kit, would bring new vinyls for his record player. 

You might think that it would be hard for the boy to concentrate, with all his seemingly endless energy, but whenever he put his mind to something, he would fall deeply into the process and it was hard to get him out of his zone. He could spend hours and hours on his artwork, more often than not forgetting his most basic necessities, like, you know, eating. No biggie though.

His father, Jacques, never thought it was healthy, to forget himself like that. But Quigley enjoyed the process, so he never stopped. 

The problem with his dad, though, was that he would never allow him to go out. He never explained why, but Quigley never saw the city more than from the window in his room (and their apartment in general, whenever he deigned to come out of his safe little kingdom), which wasn’t very entertaining, either, since it led to a small alley and to a window of the apartment building across the street. 

Quigley’s childhood was filled with his father and his twin sister, Kit, not looking after him at all. He was convinced they were in on some sort of weird game of Who-Can-Ignore-Quigley-The-Most, though he couldn’t say he minded it either.

One of his favorite things to do was sneak out of the apartment and explore the building, something he couldn't have done with two adults breathing down his neck. Once, when he was nine, he even took a pen, a ruler and some paper with him and depicted out his whole floor, with all of his neighbors’ apartments carefully sketched out on the thin paper. 

As Jacques was always busy with work stuff and Kit would disappear for months on end, only calling from time to time, you could guess that Quigley learned to look after himself from a very early age. He would cook all three meals of the day on his own, every time leaving leftovers of dinner for Jacques when (and if) he came home. He would cut his own hair when it got too long and study on his own without a teacher. 

But the thing he wasn’t allowed to do was go grocery shopping. Quigley truly never had a proper explanation on why he couldn’t go outside, but his father just never let him. When Jacques knew he was leaving for a long time he would stock the fridge up with food, and without saying goodbye (it was usually just a note) he would walk right out the door, closing it with the only key. 

You might be thinking this was a horrible life for a child, but it was all Quigley had ever known, and he didn't care much, either, as long as he had paper and some pencils.

One time, when Jacques was away, Kit called him. 

Quigley heard the phone ringing and ran up to it as fast as he could. 

He picked up with the words “You reached the Snicket residence, how can I help you?” 

Even though no one ever called except Kit, he still needed to be prepared. 

“Hi kiddo, how are you doing?” Her friendly voice came from the speaker. 

“Oh hi! I’m doing fine so far, dad left yesterday,” Quigley answered, bouncing on his feet lightly. 

Kit was silent for a second, “Good to hear,” She said then and sighed, “Hey you know what, I need to do something for me, can you do it?” She asked, hope lingering in her voice. 

“Yeah sure,” the boy responded easily, scratching the back of his neck, “What do you need me to do?” 

“Quigley, remember when I taught you how to talk to strangers and traffic rules?” Her voice had become serious.

“Uh yeah, yeah I do,” Quigley swallowed, queasiness forming in the pit of his stomach, as he anticipated what was coming next. 

His fears confirmed a moment later when his aunt said “I need you to go outside for me, can you do it?” 

“Kit you know that dad will be angry-“ Quigley started but the woman cut him off. 

“Jacques doesn’t have to know. We will keep it a secret, I promise.” 

“But i don’t have a key-“ the boy tried to get away from the situation again, but failed. 

“Yes you do, actually. I left one behind the painting of the ship you did a few months ago, just tilt it to the side and it’ll fall out,” Kit quickly said. 

Quigley wondered why she had left a key there, but instead asked “But what do you want me to do?” 

“I want you to go over to the post office and take the package that came, for the name Kit Snicket, d’you understand?” 

The boy hesitated “Yeah.. When?” 

“I’m thinking today or tomorrow, Jacques won’t be back for a few days, at least, so it’s safe.” 

Quigley thought about it, then, sighting he said “Okay, fine, I’ll do it” An idea then popped suddenly in his head and he stopped in his tracks “What’s gonna be my payback?” 

“Since when do you need payback? You live in my apartment!” Kit exclaimed playfully 

“It’s dad’s apartment, and I'm not gonna lie, I'm really scared. What if I get run over by a car or something?” Quigley asked, resuming his pacing.

“You’re not going to get hit by a car if you’re careful, and you don’t have to cross the road to get to the post office, just go to the left and it’s just down the street” A pause. Quigley could practically hear her smile “And if you do it, I'll bring cartography books,” 

“How did you-“ The boy never told Kit nor Jacques about his interest in cartography. He had found one book on it in their apartment and read it really fast (even though he didn’t understand half the words), finding it relatively interesting. 

“I know everything, kiddo. Now, go get the key and go to the post office. You can do it, I know it. I’ll call you in an hour. Hugs!” Kit said in a rush.

“Okay, hugs!” Quigley responded and the woman hung up. 

The boy then walked over to his room and carefully tiled his painting, causing the key to fall onto the floor with a loud noise. Quigley flinched a little, picking it up. 

He got dressed, his shoes fitting a little small already, since he hasn’t asked Kit or Jacques to buy him new ones in a while. Getting his coat on, he slipped the key into the keyhole with trembling hands. It took him a moment to actually turn it, as he was shaking with fear and excitement and the adrenaline that only comes when doing something against the rules. He took a deep breath, clearing his mind and trying to push away the worries. Slowly, he opened the door.

He stepped out of the apartment, as if in a trance, carefully locking the door behind him and walking towards the elevator. He stood in front of it for a hot second before realizing what button to push. 

When Quigley was outside panic took over, exploding that little bubble of stupor he was in. What if a car actually hit him? What if a stranger tried to hurt him? Kill him? The noises in the busy street were too loud for him and he couldn’t stop flinching every three seconds. 

When he finally managed to breathe normally, he set way to the post office, his mission in mind. ‘ _Just go to the left and it’s just down the street’_ , that’s what Kit had said and that was exactly what Quigley did.

When he entered the building he supposed was the post office, he was greeted by an old lady.

“Hello dear!” she smiled at him, “How can I help you?” She asked, folding her hands on the counter. Quigley noticed that he was the only one in the room besides a man, who seemed to be writing a letter right on the spot. 

“H- hello,” He stammered “I’m here to uh- collect a package. Please” He added, remembering the lecture on good manners his aunt had given him.

The lady nodded. “And for whom are you collecting the package?” She asked, looking at the boy expectedly. 

“For Kit Snicket,” Quigley answered, playing with the hem of his shirt. From the corner of his eye, he noticed the man turn around to look at him, a pen still in his hands. Quigley felt his eyes on him as the woman went to the back room to get the package. 

After Quigley took it, the lady chatted him up a bit, asking about school and his age. Quigley felt slightly uncomfortable, but answered nonetheless, as the man gave the lady his letter and walked out. 

After Quigley was sure the man was long gone by now, he grabbed the packet and declared he should get going. He waved at the woman, thanking her, and exited the post office.

The first thing he saw back on the street was the creepy man seemingly waiting for him. Dread clawed at his throat. He decided to keep walking, hoping he was just being paranoid.

“Hello kid,” The man’s voice was low and scary, and it made Quigley stop in his tracks, the young boy looked up to the stranger trying to memorize his features. Tall, sad eyes, wrinkles, but not _old_ old wrinkles, a long coat and a grey fedora. “Your name is Quigley, I suppose?” He asked, holding onto the side of his hat.

The boy returned his gaze again, fear shining in his green eyes “Uh, I- I’m-“ He stuttered not sure what to say. 

“I’m Lemony Snicket, perhaps you heard of me?” The man then said, titling his head to the side a bit. 

At the words, Quigley instantly relaxed. Of course he had heard of Lemony Snicket, even if he had never seen him. Not on pictures or in real life. Maybe when he was an infant, but that’s highly unlikely. 

“Yeah, I have” He hesitated for a bit “Um, I'm guessing you’re my uncle?” Quigley scratched the back of his neck, unsure of his words. Lemony just lifted his eyebrows. 

“You could call me that, yes. It’s nice to meet you Quigley, but time is cutting short, I'll have to excuse myself,” Lemony shrugged and gestured behind him, indicating that he needs to go that way. 

Before he could even think it through, Quigley said, “Maybe you could come over for tea? It gets pretty lonely when everybody’s gone, and I would like to know you better” The last words were almost murmured by the boy, who was clutching the package like a lifeline. 

Lemony seemed to hesitate for a moment, before shrugging again, “I’m sure I can stay there for a small bit.” 

“Great! We need to go this way,” They started walking towards Quigley’s apartment building, awkward silence hanging heavily between them. 

When they finally arrived, Lemony took a moment to look around, eating up the sight. 

“It’s all just how I left it,” He said quietly, chuckling to himself. 

“You used to live here?” Quigley asked, setting up a teapot. 

“Yes,” Lemony paused, “All three of us did. Would you mind if I walk around for a bit?” 

“Not at all, the tea’s going to be ready in a minute,” The boy said, rummaging through the cupboards for the fancy tea set he knows his father kept in there somewhere.

Not that there was a lot to explore to begin with. Quigley’s room, which was relatively small, with a desk, a bookshelf, a cupboard with his clothes and a single bed. The boy had always hated the plain walls, so he hung up a bunch of his paintings and even drew on some of them. Jacques' room, on the other hands, was incredibly boring, Quigley thought. No paintings on the walls, just a little clock, a closet, a bookshelf and a king sized bed. His bedroom was the largest one out of the three and Quigley found it incredibly stupid that it wasn’t decorated in any way. Kit’s bedroom was empty half the time, forgotten by its occupant almost completely. It looked almost the same as Jacques’ but she had Quigley’s drawings on her walls too. Just sketches, no full paintings, but at least it added a bit of life to it. 

“This used to be my room,” Lemony said, standing in the doorway of Quigley’s room, “I’m glad it’s not as depressing as it used to be. When I was your age I couldn't even wish for a place like this,” Lemony declared darkly. Quigley didn’t know how to respond to that, so he stayed quiet.

“What’s your impact?” The man asked all of a sudden, after staring at the room for far too long. 

Quigley snapped his head at him, confused. “Huh?” 

“Impact is a word-“ Lemony was cut off by Quigley raising his hand lightly to silence him. 

“I know what impact means. But impact to what?” 

“Your special talent?” Lemony said, raising an eyebrow, still not getting a response from Quigley, “What is your impact on-” The phone rang. 

“Oh!” Quigley exclaimed, “That must be Kit,” He walked over to the phone. Before picking it up, however, he turned to the man “Should I tell her you’re here?” 

“Knowing Kit, she will be angry with me, so no, don’t tell her,” Lemony said simply, pouring tea into a cup. 

“Sheesh okay,” Quigley said, picking up, “You reached the Snicket residence, how may I help you?” 

“Hi kiddo! Did you get the package?” Kit’s voice was excitedly booming through the speaker. 

“Oh yeah! It went, er- okay. The post office lady was a bit invasive,” Quigley could hear her light chuckle on the line. He glanced at Lemony to find the man grinning into his mug. 

“Yes she can be like that,” Kit said after a moment, “Okay I better get going kiddo, but the package, we can open it together when I get back. Hugs!” 

“Hugs!” Quigley exclaimed, bouncing on his feet. 

Kit hung up. Quigley turned over to Lemony, only to find the man by the door, already putting his hat back on.

“Well, Quigley, it was very nice meeting you. I can give you my phone number if you ever need to call, but keep it hidden away from unwanted eyes, and keep the phone calls away from unwarned listeners” Before the boy could even react, his uncle continued “Have good evening, kid,” He declared and walked right out of the door, leaving Quigley with the phone in his hand, and a slip of paper on the table.

He walked towards it and saw Lemony’s number with a little note on it.

_Call only if your circumstances get unbearable._

_L.S_

Quigley sighed, slipping the paper into his pocket and forgetting it there. 

He doesn’t want the circumstances to become unbearable, so he never calls. 

***

The more that you say, the less I know

Wherever you stray, I follow

I'm begging for you to take my hand

Wreck my plans, that's my man

***

Kit came back home before Jacques did, which was a rare occasion. She said that she would stay there for a couple of days, before his dad returned. 

When she walked into the apartment she asked for the package and Quigley gladly gave it to her. Turns out there were a pair of scissors and a neat looking mirror. 

“Why couldn’t you just buy this at a barber shop?” Quigley wondered, following Kit into the bathroom, where she stood in front of the mirror, braiding her hair. 

“I don’t have time to go to a barber shop,” Kit declared, finishing off one of her signature braids. 

“What are you gonna do with them?” the boy asked. 

“I’m not going to do anything with them, you are.” 

“What? How? I trimmed my hair last month with the kitchen scissors. I think it looks fine...” the boy trailed off. 

“It’s not for your hair, it’s for mine,” Kit said, handing him the scissors, “I need you to chop it off as short as you can,” the woman declared, sitting herself down on a stool. 

Quigley was shocked. “What?! But your hair is so nice! What about the braids?” He always thought that Kit cherished her hair. 

“Quigley,” Kit began. 

“Yes?”

“This hair holds too many bad memories. It’s getting heavy on my head and driving me insane, just hold the braid like this,” She demonstrated, pulling it, “Cut it off right here,” she pointed to the space between her head and the start of the braid. 

“But I- I can’t,” Quigley whined, he didn’t want to say goodbye to his aunt's hair. 

“Yes you can, Quigley you trim hair like a champ stop whining and do it,” Kit said, turning her head at him expectedly. Quigley carefully took one of her braids and raised the scissors to it, cutting it off. 

He heard Kit breathe out in relief, her eyes closed, her hair spiky and short from one side, the other braid still dangling.

When Quigley chopped off the second braid the woman opened her eyes. She raised the mirror and smiled. 

“I love it,” she declared, picking up her two braids from the floor, “Look at these! Maybe I could mail them to Lemony with no return address, that would fuck with his head,” Kit laughed to herself, walking out of the room, “By the way, your cartography books are in my bag! You can get them whenever you want,” she called out. 

Quigley felt some sort of release when he put down the scissors, his head clear as day. 

***

Life was a willow and it bent right to your wind

Head on the pillow, I could feel you sneakin' in

As if you were a mythical thing

Like you were a trophy or a champion ring

And there was one prize I'd cheat to win

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so hope you guys liked this chapter!! i’m super excited to start writing the third one :))  
> you can always pay me in kudos and comments!! 
> 
> Yours,  
> Andrew


	3. tolerate it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so it’s been a while

  
  


_ I wait by the door like I'm just a kid _

_ Use my best colors for your portrait _

_ Lay the table with the fancy shit _

_ And watch you tolerate it _

_ If it's all in my head, tell me now _

_ Tell me I've got it wrong somehow _

_ I know my love should be celebrated _

_ But you tolerate it _

***

Have you ever experienced that horrible moment when you feel you're trapped inside your own skin? Under some sort of weird, hopeless disguise that is most definitely not  _ you _ even if you're standing stark naked in front of a mirror? The moment when you’re ready to give everything up just so you won’t be seen as who you are. 

If you haven’t, then you have no idea how happy I am for you. But if you have, you might just relate to Isadora Baudelaire a little (and I say a little because if you relate to her in any other aspect of her weird, twisted life then I am truly sorry for you)

The thing is, she was born a boy, but never felt like one. Isadora always wanted to wear skirts, dresses, she liked makeup and dolls. The things that people thought were girly and not for a boy. But Isadora was never a boy to begin with. 

She told her parents that she was a girl when she was very young, and Beatrice and Bertrand happily accepted it. They told her that she’s what she wants to be and no one can tell her otherwise. Since then, Isadora tossed away the “it’s just a phase” comments like they were nothing (which they were, really) 

Isadora also had a brother, Klaus, who was only one year younger than her, so they grew up very close together. He was, possibly, the person she trusted most. Klaus was the first one who knew who she truly was and he accepted her with open arms. 

The first time Isadora started noticing something was off, was when she realized all of her family had brown eyes, while hers shone green like emeralds. Later on, she also noticed her own hair was straight and thin, a big contrast to her brothers thick, black, curly locks.

And when she did the math in her head, Klaus couldn’t possibly be a year younger than her, so she decided to investigate.

At only ten years old, she was very cunning and smart, which helped enormously every time she came up with a new plan that could possibly get her in enormous trouble,  _ if  _ she ever got caught. Which she never did.

It was a perfect day for a perfect crime. Isadora pretended to be sick so her parents and Klaus could go to the movies without her, and as soon as she heard the front doors click, she was jumping out her bed and headed straight to their parents' study.

If she wanted answers, that would be where she would find them.

Once there, she looked around slowly, taking everything in. There were huge stacks of paper lying around, books and dust. Lots of dust. She coughed once. Twice. 

“Oh god,” she mumbled, walking over to one of the cabinets, “If I were a birth certificate, where would I be?” 

Isadora started to look for documents. She skimmed through piles and piles of papers, notebooks and folders until she found four passports.

“Aha!” She exclaimed, taking them out. They were in a little folder alongside some papers. She slipped out one of them, which turned out to be Klaus’ birth certificate. Suddenly, a gripping fear took over her, seizing her mind and filling it with doubt. What if she actually found something? Something she’d rather not see? She took a shuddering breath to calm her beating heart.

With shaky hands, she pulled out a birth certificate. Her old name (that Isadora no longer used) flaunted next to an odd surname “Quagmire”.

An odd feeling came over her. Deep down, she had known for a while she wasn’t a Baudelaire, but to have it confirmed? That was on a whole new level of shock.

She explored the rest of the paper and saw it all was right. Her birthday and the city she was born in. The girl swallowed. She returned to stare at the evidence she was not, in fact, her parents real daughter.

Quagmire? She’d never heard of it. 

As if in a trance, Isadora carefully folded the document back and put the file in in the cabinet where it belonged. 

Silently, she walked out of the study, closing the door gently behind her. She made it to her room before she broke down crying.

***

_ I greet you with a battle hero's welcome _

_ I take your indiscretions all in good fun _

_ I sit and listen _

_ I polish plates until they gleam and glisten _

_ You're so much older and wiser, and I _

_ Wait by the door like I'm just a kid _

_ Use my best colors for your portrait _

_ Lay the table with the fancy sh- _

_ And watch you tolerate it _

_ If it's all in my head, tell me now _

_ Tell me I've got it wrong somehow _

_ I know my love should be celebrated _

_ But you tolerate it _

***

It was a cold gloomy morning when everything went downhill. 

Isadora, Klaus and their little sister Sunny, who was barely more than a babe, were sent to Briny Beach by their parents. The sky was cloudy, but the sea was surprisingly still, the waves calmly hitting the shore. 

Isadora was sitting on the sand, scribbling things down in her trusty notebook, while her brother was busy looking at some sea creatures or something. Sunny was sitting right next to her sister, her light blonde curls sticking from under the hat. 

“Rka,” The baby said, looking at Isadora expectantly. 

“Klaus what does she want?” The girl called out, not looking up from her notebook, an unfinished couplet staring at her. 

“Sunny what do you want?” Klaus shouted from afar, walking over to his sisters, his curls blowing in the wind. 

“Rka!” Sunny exclaimed, pointing to some rocks. 

“She wants a rock,” Klaus explained, walking over to a pile of them and picking one up, tossing it to Isadora. She gave it to the younger sibling. 

“How come I never understand you?” She asked Sunny. The toddler frowned at her and didn’t answer anything, instead happily settling on munching the rock (you really don’t want to ask)

After a few hours, the beach started fogging up, though it was still relatively calm. That, however, was interrupted by the sound of the approaching engine of a car. A figure stepped out of the vehicle and started moving towards the children. 

They snapped up their heads, and crowded together in fear, violent coughs were coming from the figure. The only moment Isadora was able to relax, was when she saw who the person emerged from the fog. Turns out it was the banker and a family friend, Mr. Poe. 

“Hello children,” He said, and broke into another fit of coughs. 

“Good afternoon, Mr. Poe,” Klaus answered, and Isadora just bowed her head a little. 

“I’m here to deliver you news” He regarded them all with pity “I’m so sorry to tell you, but your parents perished in a terrible fire, that was set to your home, leaving an enormous fortune behind” Poe said it simply enough, but Isadora just stood there dumbfounded, the news turning around in her head but never quite registering.

After a minute of silence Mr. Poe spoke up again, “Perished means-“

“We know what that means,” Klaus cut him off, hurt visible on his face. Isadora still couldn’t process the news. Mr. Poe cleared his throat.

“Now now children, get in the car, you’ll stay at mine until I find you a proper home, chop chop,” he said. Isadora picked up Sunny, as if in a trance, and sat down next to the window, her sister in her lap. Klaus, sat down next to them, arms crossed on his chest, a strange look on his face.

Her ears were ringing, a huge numbness taking over. She was faintly aware of Mr. Poe talking, but it was just white noise at the back of her head. That is, until a question caught her attention. 

“Would you like to see the house one last time?” Mr. Poe asked. 

“Yeah,” Isadora breathed out, barely managing a nod. Sunny dozed off in her arms. 

***

_ While you were out building other worlds, where was I? _

_ Where's that man who'd throw blankets over my barbed wire? _

_ I made you my temple, my mural, my sky _

_ Now I'm begging for footnotes in the story of your life _

_ Drawing hearts in the byline _

_ Always taking up too much space or time _

_ You assume I'm fine, but what would you do if I _

*** 

The house was absolutely distraught. Every single thing was burned to its core. All Isadora could think was ashes. 

It was all in ashes. 

The front porch burnt to ashes.

Her room burnt to ashes.

Her favorite poems burnt to ashes. 

Her parents’ study burnt to ashes. Together with her birth certificate. 

She carefully stepped into the study, only to find Klaus crouched on the floor, carefully studying something. 

“What did you find?” She managed to ask, stepping closer. 

Klaus looked up, but then down again at the thing in his hand. 

“I think it’s some sort of spyglass thingy? Look at it,” he stands up and hands it to Isadora. 

The girl carefully takes it from his hand, flickering some ash off. It had different ornaments carved into the metal pipe. There was a little wheel that would rattle when you would twist it. 

“I suppose this could be for different settings,” Klaus pointed to the wheel, “Perhaps-“ the boy got cut off by Mr. Poe calling for them. 

“Children! It’s time to go, banking hours!”

“Just a second!” Isadora and Klaus yelled back at the same time. “C’mon let’s go,” the girl said, walking to the door, “Don’t want to leave Sunny with that creep any longer.” 

*** 

_ I break free and leave us in ruins? _

_ Took this dagger in me and removed it? _

_ Gain the weight of you then lose it _

_ Believe me, I could do it _

*** 

The stay at the Poe’s was okay, Isadora supposed. She barely registered it really. The numbness had enveloped her like a blanket, sinking to the very core of her being.

Mrs. Poe bought them clothes to replace their burnt ones, which is a very nice gesture, but the new clothes were itchy and ugly, not the things Isadora would usually wear. Less black, more sad colors with a grey undertone. The food wasn’t bad either, but it was too soft for Sunny’s liking. And the Poe’s didn’t have any books, which upset Klaus. 

Mr. Poe’s sons, Albert and Edgar, freaked Isadora out. They were silent most of the time, spoke with a monotone voice, and it seemed like they never blinked. But then again, she supposed she didn’t look any better than a zombie, either. Isadora kind of felt like one.

The Baudelaires were provided with a small bed to share, in Albert’s and Edgar’s room. One of them sat up on their beds. Isadora couldn’t tell which was which, nor she really did care.

“How’d you do it?” He asked. Isadora furrowed her brows in confusion. She’d much rather like to be sleeping, or trying to, at least.

“Do what?” she asked.

“Set the house on fire,” the boy answered. 

There. A spark of emotion in the infinite sea of numbness. It was rage. She sat up straight, “I used my favorite candelabra with my favorite candles,” she replied with a smirk, seeing the two boys’ eyes go round like saucers “And if you keep on talking I’ll pull it out again. Good Night boys,” 

*** 

_ If it's all in my head tell me now _

_ Tell me I've got it wrong somehow _

_ I know my love should be celebrated _

_ But you tolerate it _

*** 

It wasn’t long before Mr. Poe found them a home. Isadora was relieved and anxious at the same time. She was glad they didn’t have to live with the Poe’s anymore, but what if the new guardian was worse? What if they were a psycho? A serial killer? A pedophile? The list kept going. According to Mr. Poe, the guardian was supposed to be a relative, which tamed Isadora’s nerves a little. A whole new list of questions formed in her head again.

“Why didn’t we see him before? He lives in the city and he’s our relative.” she asked on the drive there, to which Mr. Poe answered “He’s an actor! That takes up a lot of his time.” 

If he was an actor how come Isadora never even heard of him? He couldn’t be that busy, could he? What if he doesn’t even have time for them? 

Isadora had so many questions that she was positive Mr. Poe wouldn’t have answers too. 

After what seemed like ten more minutes of driving, the banker finally stopped the car in front of a nice looking house with a green lawn and a wonderful garden. 

The children stepped out and breathed in the fresh air, just as a woman came out of the house, dressed in a black gown. 

“Oh hello children! You must be here for Count Olaf?” The woman asked, smiling kindly. Isadora immediately liked her.

“Yes!” Klaus piped up, “I’m Klaus, and these are my sisters, Isadora and Sunny,” the boy introduced them to the woman. 

“Nice to meet you lot, I'm Justice Strauss. Count Olaf told me so much about you, it’s so exciting to finally meet you!” 

“You too,” Isadora murmured quietly. 

“Are you Count Olaf’s wife?” Klaus asked, bouncing Sunny on his hip. 

Justice Strauss grimaced, “Oh no! No no no no, I’m his neighbor, he lives across the street,” the woman said, pointing in the direction of their new home. 

As soon as Isadora turned her head, her stomach fell. 

It was simply the most dreadful thing the girl has seen: a tall, dark building, dusty and old, it could play off as gothic but it was just- abandoned... It looked like no one cared for it in the slightest. 

She heard Klaus gulp, clutching Sunny tighter. 

“Well it was nice to meet you, Justice Strauss,” Isadora informed the woman, turning her head back to her, “But I think we have to go, banking hours.”

“Oh of course! Oh and I forgot to mention, you children can always come over if you ever need my library,” The woman smiled for the one last time before disappearing into her house. 

Isadora sighed looking at their new “home”, she gently pulled Klaus by his elbow, breaking the boy from his trance. 

As they approached the house, with Mr. Poe right behind them, Isadora started noticing other things about it. There was ivy, growing from the tower down to the ground. Isadora always thought it to bring life to a house, but in this case it did not. It had this depressed look to it (as well as the rest of the house). It looked weak, like it was built out of ashes. 

_ ‘Ashes. Everything seems to be ashes, these days’ _ she thought.

As they walked towards the front door, she felt a chill run down her back, and it was not a chill of excitement, the one you get before unwrapping a present, or before walking out on stage to perform. This was a chill of terror. 

The closer she got, the more nauseous she felt.

The moment Mr. Poe knocked on the door, which had a creepy eye carved into it, was the moment she had to actually resist vomiting her guts out. 

The front door opened, and if Isadora had been capable of any other emotion that didn't include anxiety or that all-too-well-known-numbness, she would have laughed.

A very funny looking man was standing in the doorway, his hair pointing up in two directions, resembling tiny horns. Skinny legs in big huge shoes, far too big for his foot. 

That faint trace of amusement was gone, however, when Isadora saw an eye tattoo on his ankle, it gave her this odd sense of not belonging where she was standing. The girl looked up to meet the man’s eyes and her body polarized as soon as she did. 

Count Olaf was looking at her with a devilish grin, a worrying glint in his eye. Isadora swallowed. 

“Well well well,” the man drew out, leaning on the doorframe, gesturing for the Baudelaires and Mr.Poe come in, “Welcome to my humble abode!” He boomed. 

Isadora had hoped that the house, or should I call it “mansion”, would be in better form on the inside, but her hopes plummeted as soon as she took a step inside. 

It looked absolutely horrifying, mold coming out of every corner, broken floorboards and walls, a really ugly looking light bulb hanging from the ceiling. 

Is that how her life is going to be? For the rest of her days? Living in a pile of mold with a creepy looking guy? 

“Well, I think it’s fine for you to go, uh, Mr. Pole,” Olaf’s words snapped Isadora out of her trance, 

“It’s Poe,” the banker corrected. 

But Olaf seemed to ignore his words entirely, “I’ll take care of these orphans and their beautiful fortune, I hope you don’t see you later!” he said, slamming the door into Mr. Poe’s face. 

“Well,” the man said, turning to face the Baudelaires, “what kind of host-slash-guardian-slash-parent am I, if I don’t give you orphans a house tour. Come along now!” He said, storming off to the direction of one of the rooms. 

The first room was the kitchen and it wasn’t less dreadful than the rest, if so it was even more depressing and terrifying at the same time. Piles and piles of dirty plates on the tables, and no sign of actual food. 

Then they moved onto the living room, hideous furniture, covered in dust and dirt. 

A what seemed like a thousand different corridors.

The bathrooms, which smelt of rotten vegetables and mold. 

The tower, which was strictly forbidden. 

And finally, their room. Well, at first Isadora thought they would be having separate rooms, but when Olaf shut the door behind them, leaving them alone, standing in the small and dark room. 

It had only one bed. Isadora sighed, looking at it in defeat. 

“Home sweet home?” she squeaked, looking at her brother. 

Klaus was staring at her, eyebrows pinched together, “Yeah sure,” he mumbled, placing the bag from the beach on the floor, “I just-“ he began, sitting down on the floor, his face in his hands, his glasses sliding onto his forehead, “All of those books from our parents’ library. Burned down.” 

That did it. All the sadness and anger that had been buried under the ocean of numbness suddenly emerged and Isadora snapped. She turned to Klaus, fuming “Our parents are fucking dead, though they might not be my parents at all and you choose to be sad over books? Jesus Klaus, fix your priorities” she spat, putting Sunny on the bed. It squeaked loudly. 

The girl looked at her brother, to see him watching her with fear in his eyes, and quickly regretted having shouted like that. She hadn’t even been that angry at Klaus, anyway. It’d been all the emotions she’d kept locked in, trying to look tough for her siblings sake, while still trying to process the death of her parents. She sat down herself and took a deep breath. 

“Look,” she started, folding her hands on her lap, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I didn't mean to shout like that. It’s just that— I found a birth certificate in their study once,” she admitted quietly “Not on Baudelaire, but on Quagmire. Apparently, I’m Isadora Quagmire, not Baudelaire and I don’t know how or why or— I don’t know anything! I just know that our parents are dead and that they aren’t even my real parents” The girl fell back on the bed, but it was too small so her head was left hanging back, the world upside down in her eyes. 

There was a long pause before her brother talked “Yeah uhm...I might have known that,” Klaus admitted, squeezing his eyes shut, ready for Isadora to start yelling again. 

But she had no more energy for that any more, the blanket of numbness settling once again in her bones “Seriously?” she asked, sitting up on the bed again, “How much do you know? The names of my real parents, maybe?” 

“No uhm, dad once told me a few things, while we were out birdwatching. I asked him about the birth certificate. I found it way before you” There was a pause, before he continued “That’s actually why the first thing I did was go to the study, by the way, but instead I found this stupid spyglass thingy,” The younger boy took out the item out of his pocket, passing it to Isadora, “Your mom died from childbirth,” He said he said quietly, finally looking at her “I’m sorry. For not telling you. And the book thing, I didn’t mean it like that”

Isadora gave him a sad, little smile “It's okay” was all she said, and returned her eyes to the spyglass, looking at the lid. Something was familiar about it, but she couldn’t quite place it. 

“You also have like two siblings,” Klaus continued, and at that Isadora snapped her head back up.

“What?” She asked flatly, her hands falling still.

“Yeah, dad told me about them. Two other boys, though he didn’t mention any names, you guys are identical triplets, apparently”

“You’re being dead serious right now?” Isadora was looking straight into her brother’s eyes, and the younger boy just nodded, looking right back. 

“Yeah I’m being honest, I swear. Your father... uh, not sure about him, don’t remember dad mentioning him, maybe he’s still alive, maybe he’s dead.” 

Isadora just nodded slightly, processing the information. 

So to sum up: she had two identical brothers that were just walking around the face of the earth, probably not knowing about her existence. A dead mom and a possibly dead dad. And two dead adoptive parents. It was almost comical.

“I need to take a nap,” was all she said.

Unfortunately, her nap was cut short by Count Olaf, who barged into their room announcing that his troupe was coming over and he needed them to prepare dinner. None of them knew how to cook, and they tried to tell the Count that, but the man would hear nothing of it and ushered them to the filthy kitchen, telling them his guests were expected in an hour before slamming the door and leaving behind three very clueless and very annoyed kids.

Fortunately, Isadora remembered Justice Strauss and the invitation to her library, so that's where they set off. They were greeted by the woman warmly, who helped them find a recipe for Pasta Puttanesca and chatted to them animatedly. Forty minutes later, with dinner on the way and a lovely smell filling the kitchen, Isadora thought maybe life here wouldn't be all that bad, as long as they had each other. And Justice Strauss. And her library.

***

_ I sit and watch you reading with your head low _

_ I wake and watch you breathing with your eyes closed _

_ I sit and watch you _

_ I notice everything you do or don't do _

_ You're so much older and wiser, and I _

***

To say things escalated would be an understatement. And a big one.

Now, my dear fellow reader, if you are not familiar with ‘A Series Of Unfortunate Events’, then what comes next will definitely be a surprise for you, and a very confusing one at that. If you did, in fact, read it, then you are good to go (cheers to you for impeccable taste). If you have not, however, I highly recommend you go read immediately, or else the coming events might not make very much sense to you. Without further ado, let's continue...

“He got Sunny, Klaus! What are we supposed to do?” Isadora whisper-yelled in their bed the next day. Turns out they were actually genuinely fucked. 

Olaf wanted Isadora to star in his play just so he could marry her, and get their fortune. And then- and then who knows what can happen? The man was so cruel and reckless he may just kill them after..

“That disgusting freak wants to marry me!” The girl exclaimed, looking at a pale and pacing Klaus. 

“There must be some way to avoid you signing the papers or- or- maybe we can run away? I don’t even know what we can do!” Klaus stopped in his tracks and stared at Isadora with a pleading look on his face. 

“Well we should scratch the other option since the motherfucker got Sunny!” Isadora hissed, crossing her arms on her chest. 

Klaus stared at Isadora for a moment and then nods frantically, “We’ll think of something.” he whispers, pulling Isadora into a hug for the first time in very long. “We have to”

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pay me and my beta in kudos and comments!! we appreciate a whole lot!!! 
> 
> sincerely,
> 
> andrew


	4. no body, no crime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i finally wrote it omg. 
> 
> I couldn’t wait to send it to my beta so i’m posting this without correction. Sorry for any future spelling mistakes !!

_ He did it.  _

_ He did it.  _

I’m going to be blunt with you.

Violet Snicket did not take anyone’s bullshit. 

Her whole life her father was hidden by a wall of secrecy and things he wouldn’t tell her. Violet never had any friends since they moved around a lot, so most of the time she spent in a cramped apartment, or a hotel room, or occasionally a house, just building things or playing the piano (if there was one at the place there were staying). Violet had an interest in mechanics and she was a well read teenager. She found romance novels pointless and she didn’t like to “waist her time” on them. 

Her father was quite the opposite. Hopeless romantic with a broken heart. If he wasn’t typing away on his typewriter he would be watching a tragic romance movie on the tv or reading some kind of sad book. Writing poetry even. Violet has never seen the fun in that crap, romance, finding another half, blah blah blah. 

And we’ve gotten off of track a little bit here, her father was very secretive and Violet did her best to spy on him. She didn’t enjoy so many secrets that her dad was keeping away from her! She didn’t like this BS so she decided to fix it, and all she got was this. 

  1. Her mom’s name is Beatrice 
  2. Her dad doesn’t know where Beatrice is. 
  3. There’s some kind of weird thing involved called ‘‘VFD’’ (Violet hasn’t figured out what exactly that is)



And that was pretty much it. All that she’s gathered from everything she’s seen. The only thing she actually understands is that Lemony is trying to track Beatrice. And he’s failing, miserably

_ Este's a friend of mine _

_ We meet up every Tuesday night for dinner and a glass of wine _

_ Este's been losing sleep _

_ Her husband's acting different and it smells like infidelity _

Well Violet doesn’t take anyone’s bullshit, so when Lemony Snicket was pronounced dead, she knew it was all just an act. Her dad can’t die, for fuck’s sake the guy’s immortal or something. 

No but on a serious note Violet knew that it was inevitable, she knew that her father will have to fake his death at some point, she heard the calls he once made, she heard every single thing. She’s quite the spy. 

So Violet pretended to cry at the funeral, she had to. Her aunt and uncle were there, Jacques and Kit. From the looks of it they didn’t know Lemony wasn’t dead, so she just went with it. Maybe they weren’t supposed to know. She didn’t want to come in the way of her dad’s plan. She also didn’t want to seem crazy, Violet didn’t want Kit to be stroking her shoulder and saying that ‘it’s just a stage or grief’. 

But there was someone else at the funeral that caught her eye, there was a boy, maybe Violet’s age or younger, he was wearing all black (duh it was a funeral) he didn’t seem sad, but he did look upset. He was standing next to Jacques under the umbrella Jacques was holding over their heads. Looking very glum. He had big eyes and slightly long hair. And Violet noticed he was shooting her curious glances too. 

Was he Jacques’ kid? Violet had a cousin? Well that’s new. 

_ She says, "That ain't my merlot on his mouth" _

_ "That ain't my jewelry on our joint account" _

_ No, there ain't no doubt _

_ I think I'm gonna call him out _

Violet had met Jacques only once, Kit maybe more than once. Just a few times, she would visit Lemony occasionally, never at their apartment, usually at a diner when Lemony would drag her out with him. Kit is cool, she gets Violet’s jokes and she has a bunch of fun stories to tell. It was nice seeing that not all adults are lame and all they do is mop after seeing her dad do it for all of the 14 years of her life. 

Jacques though, only once. On a particularly rainy day, Lemony and Violet were stalking down to a diner that was eleven blocks away from where they were staying. They had to walk eleven blocks under the rain so Violet felt cold and damp when they got to the place. And as soon as they sat down Jacques offered her his coat, that was suspiciously dry. 

“I can see you didn’t have to walk eleven blocks in the rain,” Violet commented, it made Lemony make a ‘tsk’ sound, he did that when he was annoyed, and Kit to snort a little, she was very amused over a soaked Lemony too. Jacques just smiled. 

“Of course I didn’t, I drove, I have a taxi,” He said, extending his hand to her, “Jacques Snicket, I am your uncle.”

Violet shook his hand, “Nice to meet ya, maybe you can even give us a ride home on that taxi later.”

“Well if your father allows—“

“Nope,” Lemony said, calling over a waitress. 

Violet rolled her eyes (at which Kit tried really hard to hide a grin) but she didn’t argue. Her dad was one stubborn bastard. 

“Well then you can have my umbrella—” Kit began, but she was also interrupted by Lemony. 

“No, we don’t need it, thank you though.”

“Why? I’m just trying to help, it looks like you guys don’t have an umbrella,” she said, looking at Lemony with big doe eyes. But her brother just gave her a stern look. 

“We  _ do  _ not have one! Dad forgot ours at the last place we stayed at,” Violet commented, studying the menu. 

At that Lemony heavily sighed, Kit’s and Jacques’ expressions turned into a mix of disappointment, anger and confusion. 

“You still move around? What have I told you!” Jacques says in a  _ very  _ disapproving tone. Probably the most disapproving Violet ever heard. 

Lemony looks over to see if the waitress is coming over, he sighs again and pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“I sense i’ve made a mistake here,” Violet murmurs and Lemony stares at the side of her face in disbelief. 

“Lemony come on, why are you still moving around? Isn't  _ the thing _ over?” Kit says, shooting a glance at Violet. 

“What thing?” Violet asks.

And before Lemony could respond the waitress approached their table. 

“Could I take your order?” She asks sweetly. And nobody could say no. 

There was no mention of Jacques’ kid during the whole exchange, Lemony has never mentioned such a thing either. 

Violet stares at the kid for another few minutes until she gets snapped out of her thoughts by Kit’s hand, which was laced around her shoulder. The woman gives Violet a weak smile and pulls her closer, stroking her upper arm. 

Jacques was the only one who could say a few words a and those weren’t really moving. They were empty and soaked in dry sorrow. Seemed like there was no sincerity. 

When the funeral ended Violet didn’t quite know what to do. She just went wherever Kit went. The woman just took her hand and said:

“You can stay with us for a couple of days, then we’ll figure out what to do,” She said softly, walking with Violet down to a taxi. 

Violet sat in the back with the kid that came with Jacques and Kit sat in the passenger seat. 

In situations like these Violet would usually say something witty to defuse the tension, but her tongue was tied. She was just staring at the kid while Jacques drove. And the funny thing was that the kid stared back. 

Violet and her supposed cousin were having a stare down after her dad supposedly died and they  _ just  _ had a funeral. It was a non verbal agreement, it became a game after a minute of intensively staring at each other. And then the kid’s eyes started watering and he blinked, Violet had a faint smirk on her lips and a slight gleam in her eyes. 

After about twenty minutes of driving they got to the apartment, Violet was honestly unimpressed. It was small and boring, beige colored walls, warm lighting, a couch that looked like it was a hundred years old. Just a normal apartment, Violet stayed in plenty of those. 

“Quigley, get Violet the spare mattress and show her to your room, you’ll be sharing tonight,” Jacques said, “I have to go do some work in my room, you kids do whatever.” 

“Yeah i’ll go to sleep too, it’s getting late,” untrue, it was only nine pm, “You guys should do that too,” Kit says, walking away to another room and shutting the door.

_ Quigley. Well that’s a wack name  _ Violet thought,  _ Wouldn’t want to be named  _ that  _ in a billion years.  _

The teens stood in the living room for a few other moments, staring at each other until  _ Quigley  _ cleared his throat. 

“So i’m Quigley,” he said, scratching the back of his neck, looking really disoriented. 

“I’m Violet,” she said, extending her arm, the boy just looked at it, confused, “You're supposed to shake it,” Violet whispered, to which Quigley nervously laughed and nodded frantically. 

“Of course,” he said, finally shaking her hand, “My room is right there,” he pointed to a door, “You can go in there and i’ll get the mattress. 

Quigleys room was more cozy than the rest of the apartment, he had a bunch of drawings on the walls, shelves with books and his desk was covered in unfinished artwork. It had generally a more home-y vibe to it. Just a pleasant place to be. Quigley’s bed even had covers with the map of the world printed on them, Violet found that adorable. 

She was snapped out of her thought by Quigley who was trying to get a whole ass mattress through the door. 

Violet snorted, “Let me help you,” she said, walking over and helping Quigley with getting the mattress through the door frame. 

The boy settled it on the floor, got spare covers (they were just a brown color unfortunately, would’ve been better if they had a world map on them) and gave Violet a pillow. 

“Anything else?”

Violet looked down at her clothes, “Some clothes to sleep in?” 

Quigley threw his hands in the air, “Of course! Wait a moment” and he began looking through his closet, trying to find something decent. 

Violet ended up with a big, soft t-shirt that had some band logo on it and a pair of plaid pajama pants.

“The bathroom is right down the hall,” Quigley said, “I think we should have a spare toothbrush in the mirror cabinet.”

“Thanks.”

After Violet washed her face and brushed her teeth, she and Quigley were sitting in his room, having a stare down again, apparently. 

“You don’t know how to start a conversation, do you?” Violet says, trying to hide her smirk. 

“Not really,” Quigley answers, blinking. 

“Well then I’ll start, did you know about my existence?” 

“Nope.”

“I didn’t know about yours either, are you Jacques’ son?”

“Yes. Are you Lemony’s daughter?” 

“Yes. Have you met him before?”

“Not really, only once.”

“How?”

“Randomly in the street. Dad doesn’t even know about it.”

“Wait, really?” Violet was genuinely confused, “You never had a family dinner together?”

“Family dinner? I barely leave here! I met him the first time I was outside..” Quigley gets a little quieter at the last part, seeing Violet’s obviously shook face. 

“Your  _ first time _ ?! Why in the hell don’t you leave here?”

“M’dad doesn’t let me, don’t know why.. He has his— reasons.”

“So you never leave the house? Is this why you didn’t know you were supposed to shake my hand? Have you ever met a person your age?” 

“‘Fraid I haven't, never really had any friends beside Kit but she doesn’t count does she.” 

“That’s outrageous! And obviously Kit counts she’s my friend too but I’m going to talk to Jacques, right now,” Violet says and stands up, storming out of the room. 

“No! Violet, he has his own ways you shouldn’t try to discipline him—” but before Quigley could stop her Violet is storming right into Jacques’ room. 

“Excuse me?” Jacques asks after Violet just stood there for ten seconds staring at him, trying to find the words. 

“Excuse you!” She finally speaks up, “Why aren’t you letting Quigley go outside?” 

Jacques pinched the bridge of his nose with two fingers, “Now, Violet I know you’re dealing with some things right now, but this isn’t a good time to try to rebel me or whatever, so please kindly step out and close the door, I’m busy.”

“Not until you answer the question, he didn’t know he had to  _ shake my hand,  _ why are you keeping him away from the outside?” Violet demanded. She has been pretty frustrated lately and getting it out of her system wouldn’t be a burden. (Spoiler alert: it was a terrible idea) 

“Violet, I understand, you want your father back—”

“He was your brother too! He was Kit’s brother! He was Quigley’s uncle even though he met him only once!” And as soon as Violet said it she stopped talking, she realized that she just made a  _ huge  _ mistake. 

“He did  _ what _ ?” Jacques asked, his eyes traveling to Quigley who was standing behind Violet in the doorway. 

Violet slowly turned to Quigley to see his face hurried in his hands, the boy groaned. 

“I…met him once,” he murmured. 

“And when exactly, but most importantly when did that happen?” 

“A while ago, he just uhm— He stopped by..?”

“Are you asking me?” 

“No..”

“Then tell me—”

And before he could finish, Jacques was interrupted by Kit, “Wow! The hell’s happening here?” she asked, yawning. 

“There might have been a slip up and I might be in trouble,” Quigley whispered to her. 

“What slip up?” Kit asked, her eyes traveling around her family. 

“Quigley met Lemony before? Do you know any of this?” Jacques asked, crossing his arms on his chest. 

“Quigley did you dig up his grave?” The woman asked and chuckled, “No but serious, we’ve talked about this—”

“I didn’t dig his grave! I met him when youaskedmetogogothepostoffice.”

“What was that?” Jacques asked, stepping closer to Quigley. Violet was watching the whole scene in a panic.

“Oh shit!” Kit exclaimed, clapping her hands. 

“Language,” Jacques and Quigley said in an unison.

Kit just waved them off, “I once sent Quig here to the post office,” she said, ruffling the boy’s hair. 

Jacques sighed, “I didn’t allow it, did i?” 

“No you didn’t but I allowed it, and everyone knows I would be much better at parenting than you  _ and  _ Lemons combined and no, it’s not because i’m a woman, it’s just because i’m achingly cool. So this is all on me and the fact that Quigley met Lemons, honesty good for him, he didn’t even have to dig up his grave to see that sad face if his! Now, goodnight everyone, Quigley and Violet go to your room, Jacques, you stay in your room and I’ll go to mine. Chop chop!” 

And that was that. After two more days of staying at the Snicket residence, Violet was sent off to a boarding school. 

_ She says _

_ "I think he did it but I just can't prove it" _

_ I think he did it but I just can't prove it _

_ I think he did it but I just can't prove it _

_ No, no body, no crime _

Jacques drives her there, without a single word on the road. Not one, he didn’t even put on the radio. His mood matched the way the school looked. 

If i’m being very vague the school looked very fucking depressing. 

And not to mention the fact that Violet was dropped off without a single goodbye and she waited on a very uncomfortable bench for what seemed like  _ hours _ , until a girl in a pink dress (Violet may have mistaken her for a fairy at first) skipped her way to Violet. 

“Are you new here?” The girl asked, staring at Violet. 

“Yeah.”

“Here’s your uniform,” the girl gave Violet a skirt, shirt and jacket, “I’m Carmelita Spats, and if you don’t want your life to be living hell, don’t mess with me. Now, let’s go for the tour!” Carmelita continued skipping through the halls. 

Violet changed to her new uniform in the stalls while Camrleita waited for her by the sink, she was just babbling about a bunch of things. 

“I have a best friend, his name is Duncan, he’s also an orphan, he was adopted by three identical hotel owners when he was born, creepy right? I think you’ll get along with your orphan common interests and orphan sad faces,” she continues to talk but Violet just filters it out while she stalks after Carmelita through the hall.

Until the tour comes to an end and Violet finds herself on the uncomfortable bench once more. 

“It seems like you’re late to see the Vice Principal!” Carmleita, sing-songs in the most annoying voice imaginable, “I’ll leave this to you!” she says, bangs her foot on the Vice Principal’s door and runs off. 

And Violet can  _ sense  _ that this is the beginning of a new nightmare. 

_ But I ain't letting up until the day I die _

_ No, no _

_ I think he did it _

_ No, no _

_ He did it _

Turned out Violet shared a dorm with Carmelita and one other girl who was just always quiet, she turned out to be an early riser so she was out of bed when Violet woke up the next morning. 

Violet was running down the corridor from her dorm when she bumped into someone, crashing down on the floor. That someone helped her stand up and when Violet saw their face she froze. 

The boy who she was looking at looked unmistakably like Quigley, the same facial features, the same eyes, only shorter hair. 

“Quigley?” she asked, staring him right in the eyes. 

The boy furrowed his eyebrows, “What did you just call me?” he asked, tightening his hand on the strap of his hand bag. 

Violet hesitated for a second, “Sorry.. I must have mistaken you for somebody else.”

“Well thank you to my birth parents I am not named Quigley, feels like I’ve won the lottery. I’m Duncan, by the way,” the boy jokes, extending his hand. “Denouement. Duncan Denouement. And you?” 

“Violet,” she shakes his hand, “Violet Snicket.”

The boy widens his eyes and stares at her, freezing his hand. 

“Snicket?” his voice is hoarse,his mouth must’ve went dry. 

“Yeah.. What about it?” Violet asks, prying her hand away. 

“I uhm.. I— Err.. nothing! You know what, nothing,” Duncan says, claps Violet on the shoulder and runs past her throwing one last ‘see ya’ her way. 

Violet sighed,  _ this is going to be fun.  _

_ Este wasn't there _

_ Tuesday night at Olive Garden, at her job, or anywhere _

_ He reports his missing wife _

_ And I noticed when I passed his house his truck has got some brand new tires _

_ And his mistress moved in _

_ Sleeps in Este's bed and everything _

_ No, there ain't no doubt _

_ Somebody's gotta catch him out _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you enjoyed the Snicket family reunion :))
> 
> pay me in kudos and comments, as always !
> 
> Yours,  
> Andrew


End file.
